


Flake

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Gen, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 18:09:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1951059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock picked Jim up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flake

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

For one brief, strangely comforting moment, Jim thinks he’s back in a crib, tiny and small and bundled in blankets. He’s rocking too much for a bed, and the wind sweeps over his face too much to be the static, recycled atmosphere of a starship’s cabin. He parts his lips to let the cold filter in, and it burns with just how much frost there is. 

His eyes flicker open and shut again, unprepared for all the snow. It’s frigid all around them, opaque-white in almost every direction, and he buries his face in the comfort of the blankets. 

“I am glad you are conscious, Captain.” The familiar voice is deep and warm, but it lets Jim know he’s _not_ in bed, a crib or otherwise, and he blearily looks up through his lashes at the sharp features of his first officer. 

Jim yawns, “Spock,” and forces himself to sit as upright as possible, even though his aching body is yearning just to snuggle back into Spock’s warm shoulder and drift back to sleep.

He _is_ aching, now that he’s coming back to himself—sore in so many places, and there’s a dull throbbing in the back of his head that takes over when he tries to think. He’s sitting sideways against Spock, and Spock’s arms are around him, holding onto the reins, thickly wrapped in coats, more layers than most, but Vulcans prefer the heat. Jim’s coat is pulled tight around him, adapted just for this world, but the fur around his hood doesn’t protect his cheeks from the storm. They’re moving unsteadily, like riding a horse, but Jim knows the feeling of a horse, and this isn’t that. He looks down at the leathery-grey beast beneath him: an elephant. Or this planet’s equivalent of one, anyway. Their saddle is large and awkward, but Spock handles it well enough, even with Jim in his arms. 

The away mission and the fall come back to Jim in a slow blur—they reached the native outpost, Spock suggested they run more scans before downing the snowy ridge, and Jim smiled and told Spock he worries too much—and he does. Except that the ground gave way beneath Jim’s feet, and the rest he doesn’t know of.

He mumbles, “The village—”

Spock tells him levelly, “We will be there in approximately forty-seven minutes. The atmospheric fluctuations are still interfering with our communications. However, I believe once we return with the parts from the outpost, Mister Scott should have enough resources to repair our shuttle.” After a pause, in which a particularly deep step into the snow sends Jim bouncing back against Spock’s shoulder, Spock notes, soft enough that none of the others—Sulu and Chekov on another ‘elephant’ beside them, Hendorff and Mallory on one behind, if his memory’s working and peripheral scans are right—“Perhaps it would be wise if you rested until our return, where Doctor McCoy can look at you properly.”

“You didn’t look at me?” Jim mumbles, sure that can’t be true; if he appeared severely injured, Spock wouldn’t have moved him. 

“I did what I could, Captain, but my area of expertise is not human physiology.” Jim nods against him, though by now, Spock should know his body well enough. Spock asks, quiet again and with a flicker of hesitation, “Do you feel... well?”

No. Cold and stiff, now that he’s awake, but Jim, head now nestled against the side of Spock’s under the guise of being too weak to support himself (and the bundling does help battle the cold and should do so for both of them), insists, “I’ll live.” When he exhales against Spock’s cheek, he can see his breathe.

Spock’s arms, sticking straight out to grip onto the reins, close around him for barely a second. It’s just a small, pleasant squeeze, enough to say he’s glad, to reassure Jim he’s there, that it’s safe to sleep. Jim smiles and strokes Spock’s side, his own arms otherwise limp in his lap. He doesn’t always have to look before he leaps, because Spock always manages to catch him. 

He’ll still take hell from Bones, but right now he’s got enough to worry over, and he puts that out of his mind. He curls back up against Spock, half hoping the others still think he’s asleep—not very captain-like, is it? But he knows he has all their respect. Injuries could happen to anyone. Together, they trudge on throw the snow, and Jim drifts back off.


End file.
